


Selective Truth

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Hogan's Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-29 05:44:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16257860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: There are those who say it's always best to tell the truth, but those people must live extraordinarily simple lives.  Well, sometimes the truth just wasn't what was needed, at least not the whole truth.  Sometimes it was more about selecting WHICH truth was best.  When Andrew discovers a trunk in the attic at Haven, mostly full of letters addressed to Peter, though a few were addressed to him, that point was driven home.  And that led to Peter and Andrew considering just what they were going to tell Caeide about their recent time alone, especially about that unexpected little visit from General Robert Hogan.





	Selective Truth

**Author's Note:**

> After the War - some time after 'The Weaker Vessel'. The villainous Lady Margaret was introduced in that story.

Andrew had been searching through the attic, just to kill time while Peter was waiting on the train with that overdue load of supplies. This would be the third morning he'd gone down to the station in the far pre-dawn, to spend time chatting with Davie Rhys, the station master, waiting for the train to stop and offload what they'd ordered. They didn't know what had gone wrong on the Cardith end, but the past two mornings, the trains had sped by, not even slowing down, and Peter had come home in a mood, being on the phone to the dealer down in Cardith once their offices opened, each time getting excuses and promises that were quickly losing their appeal, along with their feel of sincerity. They were really starting to wonder if it was because it was Peter making the calls, not Caeide like the dealer in Cardith was used to being the case.

The small blue trunk in the corner caught his eye and he opened the lid to see batches of letters, with little dividers. Curious, he took a look - maybe about a quarter or less, in the first section, were to Caeide, from Peter mostly, though a few from Andrew and others; a full three quarters and more of them seemed to be FROM Caeide, mostly to Peter, just a few to Andrew, which seemed odd. Well, of course, it was odd - that the letters were addressed, written and signed, but still here, obviously never mailed. It was even odder that, on the backs of the letters, there was a penciled draft of a different letter, a very different letter.

When Andrew read one of the ones addressed to him, (which he thought was okay, since it WAS addressed to him), the one on the back was familiar; he'd remembered receiving a letter like that. Curious, he went through the others addressed to him, and it was the same; the ones on the reverse side, he remembered - the ones on the front, no, she'd never sent him anything like those; he would have remembered. 

He brought the trunk down with him, and sat it on the kitchen table, waiting for Peter to get back from picking up the supplies from the train depot. He really wished Caeide was here to ask about the letters, but she wasn't. He really wished they'd get a call, too, letting them know how she was; Caeide rarely took sick, but now she was, too sick to remain here with them; her brothers had flown in at Peter's request, and firmly inserted her into a bed at the little hospital they worked at sometimes, where others of the Clan did as well. The call from James yesterday relieved their mind somewhat, but it seemed she still wasn't doing as well as they'd wanted, not enough to come home yet, though she was vigorously petitioning them to be allowed to. Maude was off with Marisol taking care of some business in London; seems there were those that wanted to buy the lot where the pub used to stand, plus a few other little matters, and Maude didn't feel up to handling it by herself. They pretty much made it a rule none of them went off on their own, anyway. Well, it wasn't like Peter could go back with her, not the way things were, and Andrew didn't know enough about English laws to be of much help to Maude, so that left Marisol. And perhaps them deciding to go now was wanting to be close in case Caeide needed them, too. Even with the brothers there, the women had known Peter and Andrew were worried.

Andrew looked at the letter in his hand once again. The reverse of that single page telling of the glorious views of the sea, the hawks swooping overhead, the hopes for the apple and pear harvest in the newly-planted section of the orchard, "not this year, certainly, but within less time than you'd imagine", the thickness of the fleeces promised by the flock, Angie and her beautiful new foal. The front, telling of Reverend Miles becoming so ill with the sweating sickness, it taking all of Caeide's care to bring him back to health, with no one else available to help, with so many being sick in the village as well; of her unable to tend the gardens or the orchards as should have been done, only doing her full duty to the animals that depended upon her, and the subsequent loss of the kitchen gardens she depended on for her winter meals, along with most of the fruit from the orchards; of having to dip into overly-narrow reserves to bring in food for herself and the stock, and still having days when she'd gotten by with little more than a slice of bread and cheese, both from trying to conserve and from sheer exhaustion. The loss of Marigold's foal, then of Marigold herself, the mare unable to recover from the damages caused by the fall from the cliffs that had cost her that unborn foal; of the wild boar tracks Caeide had found at the scene, and her worry about having to track and kill the creature that threatened everyone and everything in its path. 

Anorther letter, the front page telling of her fall in trying to rescue a lost lamb, causing her to be at half-strength, less than half-mobility; the pain-filled nights, the time she'd dismounted with such awkwardness, and after caring for her mount, had had to drag herself along the path back to the back porch and up those steps, only to lose consciousness when she reached the back door. Describing the struggle with still having to do all that had to be done, ending up sleeping by the fire downstairs, unable to make the trek up and down those steps for quite some time. The rear, among all the other trivia of day-to-day life at Haven, telling of a 'silly mis-step, up in the hills, one I'd never want even to have to describe for the sheer foolishness of it all. Must have looked like a pure fool! Luckily the lamb I was carrying was unharmed!'

When Peter came through the door, a look of sheer frustration on his face at the supply order once again NOT being on the train as promised, he'd been caught by the look of helpless vulnerability on Andrew's face, and froze, thinking dire news had arrived.

"Andrew??!" to be relieved at the explanation, though puzzled himself at the idea of letters written but not sent.

"She lied to us, Peter. Again and again. I don't get it! Why??"

It took awhile, with Peter reading a letter or two addressed to himself, the back of the pages being letters he remembered, the fronts something quite different; then pouring himself a cup of strong coffee, then eventually, a glass of something stronger for the both of them. 

"She didn't lie to us, Andrew," looking at Andrew's scrunched up face of bewildered misery, "she decided 'ow much of the truth, w'at of the truth it was best to tell us. There's a difference, luv. Remember the letters we wrote, back in good ole Stalag 13? Didn't tell the w'ole truth, now did we? And not just about the little side jobs we'd be up to, neither. Didn't sit down and tell those at 'ome bout the sickness and the fleas and the trouncing we'd get from the Krauts, or the 'questioning' from the Gestapo; never told just 'ow cold that cell in the cooler was, about 'ow whatever they used in the delousing station made our skin and eyes burn so, made us cough for days. Didn't describe every bloody new scar we got. Sure didn't line out about those three guards, now did we? Or 'ockstetter and 'is merry band of villains? Didn't tell them of those we saw die. Didn't tell them a w'ole bloody lot of things, now did we?"

Andrew's face cleared a little, knowing all he'd managed to leave out of his letters to his mom, to his cousin; not lying, no, just leaving out a whole heck of a lot of bad stuff they just didn't need to hear, stuff that would just make them worry more, get all upset. Sometimes that meant including a lot of little stuff, anything he could think of that might give them a smile or show some little ray of sunshine, let them know he was keeping his spirits up. Maybe that's what Caeide had been doing. When he voiced that out loud, he got a knowing nod from Peter, "that, and trying to give us a little bit of peace, something good or clean or funny to think on. And she managed that, right enough," he shook his head, smiling, remembering just how welcome her letters had been, not just to him, but to everyone in the barracks. Well, almost everyone.

Peter's eyes got a little stern, but with just a hint of a smile, "just like, when she gets back and asks 'ow we managed, Andrew, we'll tell 'er we missed 'er like crazy, and she's not to get sick again, ever, but admit we did well enough to care for ourselves and everything around 'ere, at least enough to get by. Will be telling 'er about 'ow well it went with the stock, about those twin lambs and Bridy being such a good mum to them; won't be going out of our way to tell 'er about me getting stuck out on the cliffs overnight when I took a tumble chasing after that bloody ram, now will we? Nor that cough I 'ad for days after; she don't need to 'ear about that. We'll most likely laugh and tell 'er about 'ow yer getting bloody tired of my ploughman's lunches for every meal, no matter 'ow well I did them, and 'ow we're looking forward to 'er own baking again, not 'aving to rely on packaged sweets. Won't be saying a word about that mess in 'ere when you decided to take over that little chore that day, went to boil those eggs and forgot them til they bloody well exploded all over the ceiling, AND managed to catch the bacon on fire and fill the place with smoke, not less she notices the new paint. And if she DOES notice, we can just say the place seemed a bit smoky after the winter's fires and thought to get the job done to keep our mind off missing 'er. We'll laugh and tell 'er Estelle and Charlie and Lucy and Gracie took right good care of us both. We'll tell 'er all about 'ow Reverend Miles stopped by to check on us, and Magda Rhys as well, and 'ow Mali Tanner and Madge at the store sent their best wishes, and all the others; doubt we'll be telling 'er about the dirty looks and dirtier gossip from a few in the village, about no one seeing Caeide for too long, wondering just w'at we might 'ave done, w'at we're planning to do about the place now we've 'got 'er outta the way'." 

He leaned back to light a cigarette, and admitted, "though, wouldn't be surprised if she doesn't 'ere about that on 'er own, that last bit anyway; coo, fair barmy they must be, thinking the family would let us get by with anything like that. Anyway, there's others that put them straight, like the Reverend, but face it, Andrew, there's some won't ever believe anything but the worst of me, and you get slapped with that brush right alongside me."

That got a rueful smile of acknowledgement from Andrew, but also a "yeah, well, I don't think we're going to get away with keeping that a secret, Peter; you know she'll get an earful from some of the others, and boy! Is she going to be mad!! I just hope no one tells her about HIM showing up. You don't think anyone noticed, do you?" 

Peter's face grew grim, "well, kinda 'ard to miss a plane swooping in, landing like it did, twice over. Plenty of talk whenever Ian or any of the others come calling, you know. Sides, don't think that's something we need to be keeping from 'er, Andrew; would just make it worse when she does 'ear about it. She might get to worrying about it being even worse than w'at we tell 'er then. 'Im showing up with 'er being gone, and Maudie and Marisol, too, coo, that was touchy!"

Andrew could think of a few other words for the experience, and he kinda figured Peter could too, but for now, he was content to leave it at 'touchy'. Though it might be interesting to hear what words Caeide came up with.

That had been either extremely good timing or spectacularly bad timing, depending on your viewpoint, Hogan showing up with all three women gone, and neither Peter nor Andrew had made up their minds as to which. They had certainly been more than a little dismayed when Hogan had descended from that unexpected small plane that had circled the upper clearing then landed, then immediately took off again. His smooth, "had a few days leave, Peter, thought I'd drop by," answered Peter's inquiry. 

Hogan's satisfied and smiling demeanor once he'd heard of the 'ladies' absence - "a bit of business elsewhere; they'll be back soon, but probably not before you leave," - had faltered just a little when he caught sight of Andrew, had realized he wasn't alone with Peter like he'd thought at first.

One good part was that Hogan had seemed to accept Peter's quick explanation that Andrew was just paying another little visit; somehow, it just didn't seem smart to let him know Andrew was a permanent part of the household now. Their offhand response to Hogan's snidely joking comment about Andrew "still acting like you're a member of the family, I see," what with Andrew's room being in that 'family quarters' behind that pocket door that separated guest quarters from the rest, had seemed to satisfy the officer. Still, they could see Hogan wasn't pleased that that door stayed closed, latched and locked at all times, or that, no mattter how closely he paid attention, he never saw either of them working whatever mechanism that allowed it to be opened. Well, it had put paid to any notion Hogan might have had about showing up at Peter's bedroom door unannounced, but Hogan wasn't letting that discourage him.

Peter and Andrew had grimly acknowledged it was going to be a very long 'few days' before that plane returned to pick up their former commanding officer. With all the ladies gone, it had fallen to Andrew to play the gooseberry, always (or mostly, anyway, as much as he could) seeming to be in the right spot at the right time (from Peter's point of view), or in the wrong spot at the wrong time (from Hogan's side of things).

Still, there were still chores to be done, and that had given Hogan more opportunities than either Peter or Andrew were happy about. Neither of them wanted to leave Hogan alone in the house; there was no telling what mischief he might get up to; he just might snoop enough to find that little hidden door in the pantry and that second set of stairs up to the family section and the office with far too information the officer did NOT need to be privy to. So the two men had to split the chores between them, one remaining behind at all times. Estelle usually went with Andrew, her being more knowledgeable about some of the hazards of the homestead, and when that happened, Peter was left alone with Hogan. 

Andrew had argued against taking Estelle, "she really hates Hogan, you know, and she's REALLY big! It might keep him in line if she stays with you," Andrew had protested, knowing Charlie, his alley dog of mixed heritage, pretty much liked everyone and probably wouldn't be much help, but Peter was more concerned about the adders and a few other dangers on the homestead that Estelle could protect Andrew from. He figured he could talk fast and keep dodging, at least til the two came back from their time outdoors.

He tried to reassure Andrew, "aint like back in camp, Andrew. I 'ave to deck 'im, won't cause near the trouble. Sides, in a 'ell of a better shape than I was in the camp, too," and Andrew had to admit the truth of that. Good food and hard work had caused the rangy Englishman to become much stronger, much more formidable, even without resorting to that 'pencil sharpener' of his - more like he'd been in his dangerous days on the streets of London's East End. No, he wasn't likely be a victim, not again, but still Hogan was a danger and they both knew it; there was a lot of built-in conditioning to obeying the officer, maybe too much.

The thought crossed both of their minds, quickly dismissed by Peter, if not so quickly by Andrew, of just how many things could happen on the homestead, what with the cliffs, the sea, the sharks and snakes and everything else. Still, they'd have a devil of a job explaining that to the pilot when he came back to retrieve the General, so they focused on keeping things on an even keel til that plane returned.

Of course, a time or two, Hogan had followed Andrew, complimenting him on 'helping out while the women are gone, though a hell of a way to spend your vacation', but making sure just how much in contempt he was of Haven and all connected. The questions about Andrew and 'how you're getting along, what you're doing now, still working at the drugstore?', Andrew blithely answered, his words true if you weren't overly particular about him seeming to indicate it was all in the 'now', not in the past like it really was. There were some sly jabs at Andrew, some stern words about 'glad you didn't let yourself get suckered into moving here; I know you'd not want to take advantage of old friendships like that', and 'not making yourself too much at home, no matter that nonsense of staying in the 'family quarters'', along with 'growing up, not depending on Peter so much', not to mention 'not visiting so often, though those women probably encourage that, thinking to keep Peter here, when anyone with any sense has to know . . ." Yada, yada, yada, so on and so forth. 

Andrew had also been the recipient of quite a few questions about Caeide and the others, some of them couched in none too flattering terms, and he'd been careful to act even more dopey than he'd sometimes acted back in camp to get by without Hogan guessing too much of the truth. He'd refrained from defending Caeide and Maudie and Marisol, but with some effort. He figured they all three would have thought that best, but some of the things Hogan had said, especially about Caeide, well, it really made him mad.

Those were unpleasant times, to be sure, but Hogan hadn't been able to put forth his best efforts at manipulation, not with the huge wolfhound trailing along so close, grumbling under her breath, lifting her lip to show those rather intimidating teeth whenever she decided she didn't like the tone of his voice, or his scent, or just the fact that he existed. Andrew had been careful to refrain from snickering until Hogan was well out of earshot, just like he waited til they were out of sight before bending down to hug that furry grey neck. "Good girl, Estelle! I don't like him either! Come on, let's hurry and get the work done and get back to Peter!"

As for the times when Hogan stayed close to Peter, either at the house or trailing along when Peter did chores, well, although Peter had been expecting and been prepared for warding off some determined arguments as to why he should leave Haven and join Hogan in 'the game', as well as sly advances of a more personal nature, there had been a time or two when warm smiles and warmer intentions from Hogan had been firmly rebuffed by a wary Peter, and Hogan hadn't wanted to accept that, had started to press, becoming far too insistent.

Gradually, the arguments, the advances became less and less polished, more determined, with a cold, hard look in Hogan's eyes that brought back too many memories for Peter's peace of mind, (or Andrew's, when Peter told him of it later). At least once, Charlie had chosen just such a moment to upchuck what looked like part of a groundhog on Hogan's boots, which rather threw a bucket of cold water over whatever mood Hogan was intending. Gracie and Lucy had chosen another tense moment to get into a screeching, hissing quarrel right under their feet, and by the time they finished dodging the claws and teeth, Andrew and Estelle had returned. The next time Peter looked, the two cats were curled up side by side, grooming each other, rather smug looks on their faces; he determined to slip them a little extra cream with their dinners. And there had been that one time Peter had come close to losing his temper when he'd come out of the kitchen to find himself abruptly backed up against the wall by a now aggressively intent Hogan. While he'd managed to refrain from taking a swing at his former commanding officer, he HAD grabbed Hogan's wrist, moved it away from its unwelcome encroachment onto his person. He'd let out a growl, along with a harsh, "don't!" He'd been on the verge of repeating those words of wisdom Hogan had gotten from Goniff, the ones about "keeping your 'ands off that w'at don't belong to you," but never got that far, what with the knock on the door and the immediate poking of a grey head into the room.

It had been Reverend Miles who'd walked into that very tense scene, and had seemed to understand right away, (well, he had been Caeide's confidante for a long time, and there had been that worried phone call from Andrew just a little earlier). Though Hogan had backed off immediately and reverted to his smiling personable best, the old man had made it a point of inviting himself to tea, keeping the conversation going even after Andrew and Estelle came back from gathering the eggs and milking the one cow was still producing.

It was Reverend Miles who made an offer, and a few quiet suggestions to the resident pair when they walked him back out to his pony and cart, suggestions that resulted in Estelle NOT going about with Andrew any more, Charlie taking on that duty, and which also led to dampened sheets and a smokey fire in the fireplace in Hogan's bedroom, a pair of stray brown bats on his ceiling, ("ei, don't mind them; don't do no 'arm and 'elp keep the spiders to a minimum. 'Ave a few 'ere and there; surprised there's only the two, though; usually they like to move in little groups, you know."), one very confused grass snake found making his way across the kitchen floor at tea time, ("gee, guys, it's just a little snake! Come on, Peter! Didn't you say you get them in here all the time?; I don't see why you always get so excited!"), and a couple of meals that took all of Peter and Andrew's determination to choke down with a smile. Add to that, their opening that bottle of wine from the batch that had gone so wrong and they hadn't gotten around to emptying out yet, well, none of that encouraged their unwelcome visitor to prolong his stay. Even as Peter sipped at the wine, he kept a smile on his face as if he was actually relishing the beautiful richly colored but decidedly bitter and musty vintage, privately thinking it as bad if not worse than any they'd cobbled together back in camp. Maude never had figured out what had gone so wrong with that batch.

Of course, all that DID give Hogan plenty of ammunition for deriding Peter's decision to stay in ". . .this godforsaken place! For Christ's sake, Peter! How can you LIVE like this??!"

Andrew's wide-eyed, "gee, boy, I mean General! It wasn't all THAT bad! I think the wine just needs to age a little more; I'm sure the mousy smell will go away then." (Unknowingly he had stumbled on exactly what HAD gone wrong with that batch, as they'd find out when they finally emptied out that ageing barrel!)

"Though maybe tripe and turnip soup MIGHT be an acquired taste, but it was what there was the most of in the pantry under the 'Soups', and I admit I thought the haggis was a little salty myself. I'd never tell Mrs. Rhys that, though, not after she brought it up to us special; she only makes it a few times a year, you know, and her family think it's a real treat. But I know mom used to make fried prairie oysters, that's breaded bulls' testicles, you know, and while I grew up with them, a lot of folks thought that was pretty gross. And . . ."

Peter had refrained from laughing, or showing any signs of how funny that was, Andrew nattering on and on (and on and on) about all sorts of things especially made to turn the dapper officer's stomach. From the look on Hogan's face, it was having just that effect, which meant they didn't have to resort to a drop or two of ipecac the Reverend had suggested. Peter had wanted to avoid that, if possible; it might just have the reverse effect and make it necessary for Hogan to stay on a little longer before he could tolerate another plane ride.

Now, he just sat back and listened as Andrew in turn disgusted, annoyed and just plain confused the visiting General. Sometimes Andrew didn't seem to have an off switch, but now he was just refusing to USE the off switch. The rest of the evening, "the LAST evening", (thankfully!) Hogan had informed them with a sullen glare, since the plane was due to pick him up in the morning, was pretty uneventful. The quiet knock on the pocket door that night got no response, other than a furious Estelle's leaping from her place on the rug at the base of the stairs and onto the landing, forcing a highly frustrated Hogan back into his room. Back in the family quarters, Peter and Andrew shared a quiet chuckle and settled down to sleep, snugged close together against the chill of the night.

Breakfast was no more of a success than the evening meal; somehow leftover haggis, breaded and fried, even when topped by poached eggs, wasn't particularly appealing, especially when the eggs hadn't been poached quite, well, nearly long enough. The sound of the plane returning was a welcome relief to Peter and Andrew, maybe even to Hogan by now, although his purpose in the visit, cajoling Peter into leaving Haven, had been unsuccessful. In fact, somehow he'd never been given an opportunity to even present his case, not as firmly as he would have liked. Even his secondary purpose, a little 'private time' with the rangy Englishman had come to naught, thanks to all the interruptions. {"Well, there will come another time. Even if I have to put up with that woman, the others, at least Andrew won't be here to keep getting in the way!"}. 

They watched the plane take off, waving broadly, smiles on their face. When it was well out of sight, Peter looked down at Andrew, "come along, Andrew. Let's go pitch that godawful mess in the kitchen and get some decent food. 'Ave to dump that wine, too, now I think on it, bottles and aging barrel with that last bit Maude never got around to putting up in bottles. Don't ever want to smell or taste that again, even by mistake! Then we need to catch those bats, get them back to the barn. And I do 'ave to thank you for grabbing that bloody snake yesterday; don't know 'ow you can 'andle them so easy. Fair gives me the collywobbles, just the thought! Shudder to think it loose in the 'ouse!"

Andrew grinned up at him, "it's only fair, I took care of the little snake, you took care of Hogan," surprising a snort of laughter from the taller man. "But, you know, Peter, about breakfast; we still have plenty of the haggis left," Andrew assured Peter, grinning and quickly dodging to escape the brisk cuffing the taller man had aimed at him. 

They both thought about that visit, now, and found themselves grinning at each other. Yes, they thought Caeide would LIKE hearing all that, how they, with a little help from some good friends, had managed to rout the invader once again. At least they hadn't had to drag out that trunk and introduce Hogan to Lady Margaret, though the Reverend had proposed himself willing to play the part if need be, or maybe enlist Madge or Magda Rhys.


End file.
